


Shotgun

by PrettyArbitrary



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Choking, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Gun Kink, Gunplay, M/M, Masochism, Mention of Bondage, Mild Blood, No Safeword, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Painplay, Past Relationship(s), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Sex, Shameless Smut, Submission, Subspace, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Thinky Sex, hints of reconciliation, mention of BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:18:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyArbitrary/pseuds/PrettyArbitrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack should know better.  They’re not friends anymore.  He can’t trust him.  But he smells like Gabriel and he feels like Gabriel and he purrs into Jack’s ear and sucks at the sweet spot just behind his jaw, and then he bites it just so.  And when Gabriel tightens the improvised collar around his neck and drops his weight onto him to pin him in place, something in Jack snaps.  He thinks it’s his common sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.
> 
> How the hell did this happen? Well, you see, there's a thing called the [Overwatch Kink Meme...](http://overwatch-kink.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> Regarding lubrication: Gabriel uses his nanites for that. Particulate lubrication can be surprisingly effective!

Following Reaper in here might’ve been a mistake. This place is a wreck, a bombed-out office filled with the torn-up remains of cubicles and boxes worth of paper that’s mostly been turned to mulch by the weather coming in through the broken windows. Jack scowls, not liking it one bit. Line of sight in here is a joke, and the crap scattered all over the floors makes little clattering and rustling noises in the occasional gusts of wind so he can’t tell a footstep from a fucking mercenary ghost cloud or a—

He grunts as something cracks across his shoulders and drops him like a stunned fly.

There’s nothing for a few seconds, except for the aftershocks of his own surprise and the pain blooming across his back. Then he manages to groan and flop a little bit, in what he can tell even in this state is a really pathetic attempt to roll over.

Heavy boots crunch in the glass and paper. Jack snorts into the stack of soggy cardboard he face-planted in. _Sure, now I can hear you._ The footsteps circle him. A gun pushes against the back of his head—even half-conscious, he’d recognize that sensation anywhere—and then a kick to the ribs knocks the breath out of him and rolls him onto his back.

“Reaper.” Jack’s voice comes out in a creak. Fuck, he hates it when he sounds old.

Reaper kneels down beside him and pulls Jack’s mask off. He doesn’t bother with preliminaries; just drags his claws down the side of Jack’s throat, slicing the neck of his black bodysuit to ribbons and raising beads of blood along the way.

Jack's abs tighten in response. He’s not sure what else he does that clues Gabe in, but something makes him laugh. “Still a pain slut, are you?”

Jack swallows and rolls his head to the side. Gabriel laughs again and runs the tips of his claws down the side of Jack’s face, just firm enough to threaten. Jack’s breath shivers in his throat. He can hear it. Gabriel must be able to. He squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at the asshole’s smug face.

Gabriel reaches for Jack’s belt buckle, unfastens it and strips the belt out of its loops with a practiced flick of his wrist. Suspicion motivates Jack to finally flounder halfway to sitting, just in time for Gabriel to catch him around the neck with the belt. He chokes and grabs for Reyes’ wrists as he’s pulled up by it and swung around, feet kicking uncoordinated through the rubble on the floor.

He doesn’t get dragged far. Gabriel deposits him on top of a wooden desk that managed to survive whatever happened to the room. It’s a solid old monstrosity that only creaks a little bit under his weight.

He leans in over Jack, pinning him down with the belt across his throat. Jack bites down on a groan as his cock jumps in his pants because, yes, he is still a pain slut. “No one else ever could do this for you,” Gabriel purrs. And goddamn him, his voice is as electric as ever. Jack can feel that rumble in the pit of his stomach. “Never could let anyone else see you like this.”

Heat blooms on Jack’s face; he’s too damn old for the blushing schtick, but Reyes always has had a way about him. He wants to say something snarky, but what is he supposed to say to the man who was the one who tied him up and got him off for the better part of two decades?

Gabriel’s claws shred Jack's clothes from his body. He’s not too careful about it. Jack hisses as those claws cut and scratch him over and over. Gabriel must be getting off on the thought of Jack having to escape this place naked and marked. “You are such a dick,” Jack growls at him.

And then he sucks in a breath through his nose as something teases at his entrance.

Gabriel leans forward and pulls his own mask off, so that Jack can see his asshole smile. “Do you still like being fisted?” he asks almost casually.

Jack goes a little lightheaded, and he’s honestly not sure whether it’s Gabe’s words or the thing entering him. It’s mobile, silky and pliable like a tongue. He bucks his hips down against it, unable to help himself. Except it’s longer than a fucking tongue— The desk cracks against his chin as he’s _licked_ across his prostate. He stares wide-eyed at the wall and tries to remember how lungs work.

“Has anyone done it for you since me?” Gabriel continues like he didn’t just upend Jack’s entire ideology. Like his right hand isn’t kneading hungrily at Jack’s hip. “They haven't, have they? You can't trust anyone to see you like this. Can't let them know. You must be so needy by now.”

Jack presses his cheek against the desk and sucks in gulping, desperate breaths as the thing keeps _licking_ him and doesn’t have the oxygen to say he was doing _fine_ till just fucking now, or that Gabriel knows precisely why Strike Commander fucking Morrison could never take that risk, or that he still can’t because Jack Morrison might be dead but his face is still public goddamn property.

Gabriel laughs into the silence because he knows Jack well enough to hear the words anyway. “I like it when you can’t talk. You should make a habit of it.” Leather brushes across Jack’s lower body, and this time that’s definitely a very familiar finger pushing into him along with whatever’s inside him systematically destroying his ability to think. It’s getting thicker too. Jack squirms unwillingly at the, oh hell, _delicious_ sensations and whines at the stretch.

Jack should know better. They’re not friends anymore. He can’t _trust_ him. But he smells like Gabriel and he feels like Gabriel and he purrs into Jack’s ear and sucks at the sweet spot just behind his jaw, and then he bites it _just so_. And when Gabriel tightens the improvised collar around his neck and drops his weight onto him to pin him in place, something in Jack snaps. He thinks it’s his common sense. “God, fuckin’. Gabriel. _Please._ ”

Because no, no one’s done it since Gabriel, and _yes_ , being fisted makes some dark greedy knot that lives somewhere in his pelvis do backflips in delight. And Gabriel’s weight pinning him down so he can’t move is…

He just barely chokes off something dangerously close to an honest sob, because thinking too hard about Gabriel in control of his body leads to dangerous memories and dangerous regrets.

Ever since the SEP, Jack's body has been incredibly strong and resilient, able to stretch to take almost anything Gabriel could devise so long as he was careful. And he was both careful and endlessly creative. The things Jack’s had inside him make his face burn just thinking about it. Gabriel used to use it as a kind of bondage; put things in him that kept him from moving. And he was trying not to think about this and now his throat aches for reasons that have nothing to do with the goddamn belt. He bites down on a knuckle to keep whatever ungodly embarrassing sound he’s got in his chest from escaping.

Gabriel rumbles against his back, pleased, and every word he says is a twist of the knife. “You're made for me,” he whispers. “No one else can have you. If anyone else touched you I would kill them.” Another of Gabriel’s fingers pushes into him, and that…thing...Jesus, it’s petting him inside. It makes him lose himself. He wants to writhe for it, give himself up to it. Dance for it, Gabriel used to say. His grip on himself slips a couple of inches at the thought.

It’s just so fucking tempting to let himself fall because the thing is, it’s true. Jack has always known there was no one for him after Gabriel. He’s never even tried. Oh, a couple of times, with liberal application of strong liquor, there’ve been half-drunk hands-in-pants quickies with anonymous strangers in bars, but he’s never tried to connect with anyone, let alone go further.

Gabriel bites Jack's shoulder hard enough to leave a mark—hard enough to make Jack moan for it, god, he really is a pain slut—and then leans over so Jack can see his sharp grin. One more finger. Gabriel makes it rough, but it just makes Jack gasp, twist his hips as best he can. Oh fuck, he’s so full. He wants more.

“It makes your back arch so prettily,” Gabe murmurs into his hair. A callused hand strokes down from Jack’s shoulder to his hip, palm first and then claws stinging in its wake. “You have a gorgeous back. It makes me want to mark it.”

A little curl of Gabe’s smoke comes drifting up by Jack’s face. That stuff is always floating around him. Jack thinks nothing of it till it strokes across his lower lip like a little tongue. His eyes go wide. Gabriel can do that?

“Are you…” Jack claws for a death grip on his own coherence at the concept. “Are you _tentacle-fucking_ me?”

Gabriel chuckles, an honest-to-god genuinely amused chuckle. The little smoke tendril probes between Jack’s lips and then pushes in. He might open for it. Hell, he doesn’t know anymore. His head is swimming, his body is singing and everything dumb and Reyes-related seems like a good idea. It swells as it pushes into his mouth and curls against his tongue till he finds himself sucking on it. It’s...goddamn him, he likes it. It’s almost soothing. An anchor in the sensation overload of what Gabe is doing to him.

“Relax,” Gabriel breathes in his ear, tone almost hypnotic. Jack can’t do anything but comply.

He moans in surrender as Gabriel’s fingers move inside him, pushing deeper. His rim stretches more, and then he puts his forehead down against the table and lets out a long wavering groan as he feels the swell of Gabriel’s thumb entering him.

Gabriel’s hand is not small. Neither is his wrist. Jack just lies there and breathes while his body adjusts. “Oh, god. Oh, god, Gabe. How the fuck...did I let you...” It feels so good. He’s so helpless. Helpless to Reaper. Helpless to Gabriel. Those are not the same thing at all and he’s not sure which one is true anymore.

“Mmmmmm.” Gabriel keeps rocking his hand ever so gently inside Jack's body. It rubs one of his knuckles against Jack’s prostate, sparkling like low voltages shocks all up and down his body. He must be leaking all over the table. He can feel how wet he is. That stuff—the fucking _tentacles_ that he’s going to find some way to get revenge on Gabriel just for having in existence—is still moving inside him too, still petting him and stretching him and thrusting slowly inside him, just a bit deeper than should be humanly possible.

He feels so undone. He feels like he’s been coming for an hour and he still can’t stop. He’s pretty sure he’s crying. Jack shakes and presses his mouth and the knuckles of his fists against the old wood, and fights to keep from unraveling. If there’s anything left of him that hasn’t already.

And then Gabriel pulls out. 

“No…” There’s some inner voice inside him somewhere that’s still got enough shame to be humiliated at letting the word slip out. But god. Oh god he feels so empty.

Gabriel’s laugh sends chills down Jack’s spine because it’s somewhere partway between Reaper’s and Gabriel’s. “I have a better idea, since you need to be filled so badly.” He sounds...hungry. Ravenous.

Jack feels cold metal pressing against him. It takes a second to realize what it is, and then another couple of seconds to get past his own disbelief. Then he struggles. Not like there’s anywhere to go, caught between Gabriel and the table. “Gabe, no. You crazy motherfucker—”

The barrel of Gabriel’s shotgun begins to sink into his well stretched hole. Gabriel laughs again, dark and silky. “I recommend not fighting or you'll tear yourself apart.”

He braces for the tearing, for the thing’s sharp edges to split him open inside, but it doesn’t happen. There’s a strange foamy kind of yielding sensation, like the whole thing’s been coated with a layer of silicone, although he knows that not to be true.

It’s so big, though. He can barely breathe. The ridges rub against his oversensitized walls as it enters him, but he can’t move even to twitch. He’s stretched so wide it might tear him open if he tries. It’s so hard that he feels delicate in comparison. He moans, ashamed of how good it feels to be so helpless.

He hears Gabriel moan in response.

“You're getting off on this,” Jack gasps.

“I really am,” Gabriel agrees. His voice sounds dark and intense, even for him. It’s almost shaking. “Look at you, struggling not to fight it. You love this. You like being hurt and controlled. You love having something for all that augmented strength to struggle against that you can’t defeat and shake off.”

Gabriel’s talons drag lines in Jack’s skin from the nape of his neck to his tailbone—the marks he’d promised earlier. Jack moans openly into the desktop, too far gone to care about dignity anymore, and then again when his shiver makes the gun press against new places inside him. 

“I love seeing you suffer,” Gabriel murmurs, sounding more sincere than Jack’s heard him since the explosion. “I could keep you like this forever. Maybe one day I'll find a way to do it.”

Jack’s eyes slip closed at that. It’s a lover’s promise and a threat rolled into one. Gabriel always enjoyed his responses to pain, but since he became Reaper it’s been different. They’ve met more than once on the battlefield, and it’s almost like he feeds on Jack's suffering. It turns Jack on so much that he’s never managed to fight Reaper without an erection, but he can never help wondering where Gabriel would stop once he got started.

He might find out tonight. 

Gabriel goes back to working the gun in and out of him. Jack’s mind goes blank with the intensity of it. Gabe is slow and careful as hell, but the thing is like having Gabriel fist him and then spread his hand wide inside him. This isn’t about physical pleasure anymore; it’s about Gabriel owning him, and Jack having to fight his own body in order to surrender to it. It’s horrifying and erotic at once.

He desperately wants to come but that’s not happening. It’s too far past his limits. He wants to beg Gabriel but he can’t find words. He belongs to Gabriel as long as Gabriel feels like keeping him like this. Judging from how he can feel Gabriel shaking against him, he knows that and loves it.

The gun doesn’t so much withdraw from him as it dissolves, which is a weird damn sensation even considering what Jack’s experienced up to now. Not that there’s enough left of him to care or even register it that well. Jack sprawls across the desk, panting and dripping, soaking in the sensation of his body slowly reconfiguring itself back to normal. He can’t move. He can’t open his eyes. After a few minutes, he manages a grunt.

Hands smooth over his shoulders and down his sides, then pull him back into a body. Gabriel.

“Look at you,” he croons against Jack’s ear. “This has always been your best look. So beautiful.” He runs a hand through Jack’s hair, another down his front. A soft cloth wipes at his belly and thighs. Jack tips his head back against Gabe’s shoulder.

He feels like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what. _Don’t leave,_ maybe. But he doesn’t want to say that, he just wants Gabriel to not leave. It takes all the effort he’s capable of just now, but he manages to turn around and wrap his arms around him.

Gabriel has to catch him as he starts to tilt. After a second, his arms tighten around Jack, holding him up and tight against him. “I forgot how useless you are in this state,” he says, but his voice is warm. Almost fond. After a moment, he sighs and rests his cheek against the side of Jack’s head. “If I could do this to you every day and leave you ruined like this...” But he sounds like he’s talking to himself, so Jack lets it roll off him.

Gabriel runs the cloth over his back and ass, slow and gentle over the cuts and scrapes he’s laid into Jack tonight. They sting a bit anyway, but that’s nice. Jack is only vaguely aware of anything besides his body and Gabriel’s pressed against him. He doesn’t know how long it is before Gabriel speaks again. “You’re a fool,” he mutters, “to let me do this to you. What am I supposed to do now?”

Jack thinks about that one for a bit, his nose pressed to Gabriel’s throat. “You could kiss me,” he suggests eventually.

Gabriel starts and turns his head a bit. “That’s not…” He trails off, sounding astoundingly uncertain for Gabe.

So Jack helps him out. Uncurls enough to catch his chin and bring their mouths together in a sweet, deep, slow kiss. Gabriel catches on after a few seconds. He’s always been a quick study.


End file.
